Page 39 of A Billion Dollar Romance
“Because that’s not what this arrangement is about,” I reminded myself, as well as Barrett. “It’s not about getting what I want, it’s about us both getting what we need. I’m getting my image fixed up and rehabbing my company. She’s getting her scholarship.”
Barrett tilted his head, brows furrowed. “Her what?”
“I told her at the end of this, she can stay in the cabin. I’m giving her a… a stipend. And time. She has real potential, she just needs time to work–”
“And you’re calling ita fucking scholarship?” Charlie choked out from his place in his club chair, his phone in his lap. “Herscholarship?”
I glared.
“She’s talented. All she needs is a little boost. You know that I wouldn’t be where I am today without Grandfather, Charlie.”
“Sure, because you’resohappy to be running his company,” Charlie said, rolling his eyes.
“I mean my books,” I cut him off. “You know as well as I do that in this business it’s about who you know. It’s not what you know, or even how good of a writer you are, it’s all about knowing the right agent, the right person. Without his contacts, who knows if I would have managed to even sell my first book, let alone be as successful as I have been–”
“Holy shit,” Charlie stared. “After all these years, are you finally admitting you aren’t god’s gift to bookshelves? I always told you, a good thriller is better than a 700-page metaphor about death; I’m happy you’re finally coming around–”
“No, I’m just saying that it takes more than talent to make it. She has the talent. I want to be the connection for her, and I can’t screw that up by sleeping with her.”
“Fine,” Charlie challenged, turning back to his phone. “Don’t sleep with her.”
It sounded so easy. Itcouldbe so easy. Just don’t sleep with her. See her in the office, and at the kind of pleasant work lunches we had been having over the past week.
But… I could feel my face twisting up.
“Yeah, Jamie,” he said. “You look thrilled.”
“Listen, we just want you to be happy,” Ryan said. “I like Edie. She likes you. You like her. So… take her out for a meal.”
Over steak and seared swordfish filets at Chez Madeline, I’d watched the blush creep up from her chest. Her cheeks had been pink with the wine we drank, her eyes bright and shining as I brought out the ring box. Empty, because nothing had quite looked likeherat the jewelers. I had known it didn’t really matter, it was all pretend, but when she wore the ring I gave her, I wanted her tolikeit. Towantit.
And then I remembered what she’d said that first night, when I made my little proposal with the empty box:I still think of you as Professor Martin.It had made my cock thicken under the table, even as my stomach wrenched a little tighter in my guilt.
But she’d always wanted me, hadn’t she? She’d made it pretty goddamn clear over the past week, with her little “Professor Martin” act. Even then, when she was my student…
“See what happens,” Ryan said, shrugging. “Go from there.”
* * *
Edie’s creamy, soft thighs pressed demurely together in the passenger seat nearly meant that we didn’t make it to our dinner reservations, after all. Would she really be so disappointed if I skipped it and took her straight back to my penthouse? She’d certainly enjoyed herself the first time she visited, asPenelope.
I’d made sure of it.
I reminded myself again of the way she’d looked as I asked her to dinner tonight, though. To discuss your manuscript, I’d said, and I could see the conflicting emotions on her pretty face. Disappointment, I thought, that I’d couched it in such academic reasons. Nervousness, to hear what I had to say.
And a pretty blush that Ihopedmeant that she wanted the evening to end the same way I did.
“I’m nervous,” she said in a whisper, barely audible even over the quiet purr of the Town Car’s engine.
“About what? Your manuscript? Don’t be,” I said.
“I know,” she said on an exhale. “I should have been more nervous last time, when you proposed.” She laughed softly. “But I didn’t expect that you would.”
“Didn’t you?” I glanced over to her. She was staring out the window, the evening city casting her face in blue shadow and yellow lamplight.
“Not like that, I guess,” she shrugged.
“Isn’t that how one generally proposes?” I asked. “A nice dinner? Champagne?”
